Murder at the Monastery
by DezoPenguin
Summary: When his traveling party stops for the night at Azaana Monastery, Prelate Arjan is forced to resolve the secret behind a brutal death that reaches into the tumultous history of the planet Dezolis.
1. Chapter 1

The wind shrieked eerily, like the keening cry of a soul in torment, some spectre forced to walk the mountain heights forever. It swirled around the party of five travelers, cutting at them despite their heavy fur jackets and travel-gear. Though the green-skinned race of Dezolians was well-adapted to the climate of their icy planet, they could still feel the scathing cold of the wind-chill.

"You'd think that traveling with two priests we could have avoided some of this. Couldn't you have prayed a little harder, boss?" Colce complained over the noise of the wind. Though at just under six feet tall he was short for a Dezolian, his broad-shouldered, powerful frame made him the biggest of the five, even more than the two hunters who escorted the priests in case of a monster attack. He was also the oldest, about fifteen years the elder of his two priestly companions, which was one reason why he felt no qualms about speaking his mind. This attitude did not, however, win universal acceptance.

Specifically, the priestess Ryth had had quite a bit of trouble getting used to the easy familiarity between Colce and his master, Prelate Arjan of Vassha. It went well beyond what was usual for master and servant, and Ryth had been repeatedly surprised both by Colce's lack of respectful formality and by Arjan's uncommenting acceptance of it. Brought up in the traditional religious setting of Corona Tower since the age of twelve, she didn't have the same comfort as the Prelate with breaches of protocol. But, since Arjan outranked _her_ as well, and she was a guest in his traveling party, that same respect for formality kept her from commenting further once she'd come to understand things were not going to change for her sake.

In such ways wisdom was gained.

Arjan couldn't help but smile faintly at Ryth's tight-lipped expression. He wouldn't have, ordinarily, but he felt very tired and worn down, and his self-control wasn't what it could have been. The five-day conference called by the High Priestess of all the Prelates in her demense had tired him, and the return journey was wearing him out all the more. Unlike Colce, he was more at home among books and scrolls than performing physical tasks, and fighting the wind took a lot out of him. Arjan was deeply looking forward to returning to his own bed, his own library, and he wondered suddenly just when it was that the unlovely little frontier town of Vassha had come to be associated with the warmth and the feeling of belonging implied by the word _home_.

Colce, he knew, fit into that category as well. He'd been in Arjan's employ for over six years, since the Prelate had been only a cloistered initiate, and with his age and considerably greater street-smarts he'd been much like an uncle to Arjan in many ways, opening the young student's eyes to the practical realities of life. Now, that knowledge and skill was quite a help to the Prelate in tracking fugitives and solving criminal cases.

The point Ryth failed to appreciate, though, was that to Arjan, Colce was not just an assistant. He was, effectively if not by blood, family.

"Ha!" Colce said without warning. "Look there--lights ahead!"

The others followed the direction of his pointing finger until they, too, saw the burning torch lights glowing through the wind-tossed snow and gathering dusk.

"That'll be Azaana Monastery, right enough. You can just see the outline of the tower against the sky. It looks like Her Eminence was on the mark about it being half a day's travel from the main road."

This show of disrespect was more than Ryth could take. Shocked into speaking out, she said incredulously, "You doubted the High Priestess's word?"

"I doubted her judgment--on travel, not religion. I'm a city man, myself, and I know that cityfolk don't understand country traveling. Plus, being an educated woman, I'm sure she's got a map to go by, and that just makes it worse. Maps are great for seeing where places are. They aren't so good at telling you how long it takes to get there. Ask the boss."

"I didn't know that bridge had collapsed after an ice storm," Arjan protested, recalling an incident from the journey they'd taken to Vassha when he'd first been appointed Prelate.

"You would have if you'd stopped to ask directions. That's the point. Maps don't tell you about conditions on the road, to say nothing of weather. Still and all," Colce admitted good-naturedly, "it looks like this time the maps were right."

Another twenty minutes of walking brought them to the bleak stone facade of the monastery, the torch lights they'd seen burning in bronze bowls inset in the walls flanking the main door. Colce hammered on the door's shuttered window with his gloved fist. At once, the window was unbarred and opened.

"Who seeks entry to the halls of Azaana?" challenged the porter.

"Prelate Arjan of Vassha and company," Colce told him. Although both clerics wore ordinary traveling clothes instead of priestly robes, Arjan and Ryth did have their medallions of office worn outside their jackets for easy recognition. The window snapped shut, and then the door itself was drawn open.

"Come inside, Your Grace," the porter said, addressing Arjan directly. The man was lithe and thin, and wore the white jacket and trousers of a monk. The monastery had lay-servants to handle most of the menial work, but in troubled times door-guard was not a purely nominal task, as the leaf-bladed spear in the monk's left hand showed.

There had been troubled times, too, starting with the fall of the Palmans' Mother Brain twenty-five years ago. This had led to the collapse of Dezolis's civil government in turn, for its corrupt ways were rooted in the power Palman technology had granted. Unrest had gripped the planet, a tumult and social chaos that had only ended when the Church was able to reestablish its theocratic rule. It was still a new and tenuous thing, though, one that the Church still had to prove to its people on a daily basis. Too many slips, whether through mere incompetence or outright corruption, could plunge Dezolis back into anarchy.

"Nightfall's almost upon us," the monk continued, oblivious to the cascade of thoughts his appearance had set loose in Arjan's mind, "and it's expected that we'll get snow throughout the night. It's good that you made it here."

Of course, in the ordinary course of travel, they wouldn't have expected to be there at all, as the monastery was well off the road leading to Vassha. They'd come that way because the High Priestess had requested it: "I need to send one of my staff with a message for the Abbot of Azaana Monastery, and I'd feel more comfortable if she had an escort."

One could hardly refuse a request from the High Priestess who was Arjan's immediate superior, so the group from Vassha had grown by one, and its return trip lengthened by a day.

"We're glad that we made it as well."

"I'll just ring for the steward, so your accommodations can be arranged. We have nothing worthy of a high official like yourself, of course, but we'll do the best we can."

"I was a cloistered scholar before Heaven saw fit to burden me with a prelacy. It doesn't have the same rigor of your monastic training, but I'm sure I'll be fine with whatever happens to be available."

The monk pulled on one of three bell-ropes hanging along the wall, and in a few moments another white-robed man arrived.

"Good evening," he said with a bow. "I am Brother Tashiin, steward of this monastery, and I welcome you and your party within the sanctuary of our walls, Your Grace." He was a middle-aged man, around seventy, but his yellowed eyes had instantly and clearly spotted Arjan's rank.

"Thank you. My companion, the priestess Ryth, and I would pay our respects to your Abbot, if it would not interrupt him in his duties."

"Of course, Your Grace."

"In the meantime, please see that my assistant and our escort are shown to their rooms and given refreshment. There is no reason why they should have to wait for us to dance through the rituals of greeting." He turned to the other men. "Colce, why don't you see that our baggage is taken to our quarters, but once that's done you, Kado, and M'Britt should go ahead and eat since Ryth and I may be some time."

"Sounds fine by me, boss," Colce said with a grin. "Too bad that the monastic life doesn't run to _deKal_, though."

Brother Tashiin smiled conspiratorily at him.

"Oh, we recognize that the occasional guest does not share our lack of interest in stimulants."

Colce's grin widened at the thought of the hot, spiced amber wine, a sentiment clearly shared by the two hunters.

"Now, Brother, you're speaking my language!"

The steward summoned additional monks to show Colce the way through the winding halls and to assist in carrying the travelers' packs. Arjan and Ryth removed their heavy cloaks and overboots; their jackets and trousers were not fancy but at least they wouldn't drip water on the abbot's floor. When they were ready, Tashiin led the two priests inside, then up a long flight of stairs that followed the inside wall of the square tower they'd seen from outside. Passing landings on the second and third floor, they came to the highest level, where Tashiin knocked on the closed door.

"Reverend Abbot, you have visitors."

"Come in."

The abbot's quarters were simple, a two-room suite with a reception room or study on the outside and, presumably, the abbot's bedroom behind a closed door. There was little ornamentation, all of it religious such as a copper brazier in which burned a bright flame. In this cold tower, Arjan suspected the fire served a dual purpose, being valued for its warmth as much as its symbolism. Of course, that was exactly why fire was the holy symbol of Heaven's light to the Dezolian people, so the fact that the brazier served a practical purpose as well was also symbolic on a different level.

"Reverend Abbot, allow me to present Prelate Arjan of Vassha and Priestess Ryth," Tashiin introduced them. "Your Grace, Priestess, this is Abbot Kozil of the Azaana Monastery." The steward bowed his head once and withdrew.

Although etiquette did not demand it, Kozil rose from his plain wooden seat and bowed his head in greeting. An abbot was of the same effective rank as a prelate, and moreover Kozil was the host. These plus his obvious age shown by his rheumy eyes and the weblike tracery overlaying every inch of exposed skin, made it that not even the most rigorous application of politeness demanded that he rise. That he did so anyway revealed much about the elderly monk.

"I am pleased to meet you, Prelate, Priestess, and I bid you welcome to Azaana."

They returned his greeting and politely apologized for intruding at such an hour.

"Not at all. These walls were built to give safe haven to those of our order, so that we might train our minds and bodies in safety and solitude. It is only just that we offer that shelter to others as well, and even more so for fellow Church officials. But I must admit to a certain curiosity, for Azaana is well off the beaten path of most roads in this area, and I am intrigued by what may have brought you to our gate."

Ryth took a leather scroll-case from an inside pocket of her jacket and opened it.

"I bring a message from Her Eminence the High Priestess for you, Abbot Kozil." She tipped the case and let a tightly rolled scroll, sealed with magenta wax, slide into her hand. "This was the reason for my journey here; Prelate Arjan and his staff were gracious enough to provide me with an escort."

"Of course, Priestess." He took the scroll; despite his age there was no weakness or hesitation in his movements. We will be happy to offer you our hospitality as Her Eminence's messenger and as a sister in the Church." He turned to Arjan. "Am I to gather that you will be leaving us in the morning, Prelate Arjan?"

"That is so, Your Reverence. In truth, I would be pleased to stay a time, for I hear that you have a marvelous library," he admitted with a smile, "but my duties and, indeed, my heart call me home."

Kozil smiled widely.

"I understand completely. I, too, would not wish to be long away from my place here, even were I gone to Corona itself. You are a wise young man to appreciate this."

"I thought that a Prelate would be regularly transferred every few years for the purpose of keeping him or her free of local conflicts?" Ryth asked, a bit confused by the Abbot's attitude.

"Quite so," Kozil agreed. "A Prelate must always stand for what is right and just, not become a partisan in the squabbles that naturally spring up between people. But I think that to truly do a good job, a Prelate must not see himself as being above and apart from the people, but to value and love them."

Arjan nodded and extended his chilled hands to the brazier.

"As Bishop Ngangbius writes, Ryth, Heaven does not sit, cold and remote, in judgment, but extends its warmth and love to each of us. If we lose touch with our humanity, we cannot guide anyone towards the Way of Heaven."

He felt a bit silly to be lecturing Ryth; although the priestess held a lower rank they were roughly the same age. Still, it was a point he felt deeply, and if he had been in any way successful as a Prelate this was at the core of it.

"Yes, Your Grace," Ryth acknowledged and bowed her head respectfully. She didn't understand--yet--but Arjan hoped that she would spend the time to think on it.

"Now then," the Abbot said, "I am sure that you both are tired from your journey and in sore need of refreshment."

"Your instructive conversation--" Ryth began a polite demurral, but Kozil's soft chuckle cut her off.

"You are a kind young woman, but there is no need. Brother Tashiin will show you to your rooms. There will be plenty of time left before dinner for you to change." She looked relieved at that and no wonder; the slightly-built priestess had had the worst going of it in the storm.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Arjan said.

"Your thanks are unnecessary, but you are most welcome nonetheless. Moreover, Prelate, may I extend you my personal invitation to dine with me tonight?"

"Of course; I accept with pleasure."

"Excellent."


	2. Chapter 2

The abbot reached for a bell-pull and rang. Brother Tashiin soon reappeared and escorted Arjan and Ryth down the tower stairs. Through the narrow, slotted windows the Prelate could see the rest of the monastery laid out below them, the walls dark shadows in the swirling snow.

"The male and female dormitories are kept separate," Brother Tashiin explained, "and each has its own guest rooms. We make exceptions for guests who are married couples or families, of course, but in this case I arranged for Priestess Ryth to be given rooms in the female dormitory. I trust this will not be inconvenient?"

Arjan shook his head.

"Not at all, and since we travel in different directions tomorrow, I suspect that it may even prove beneficial."

"Excellent. Your three escorts were given bedmats in your own suite, Your Grace. I suspect by now they're at dinner with the lay workers."

"Oh?" Ryth asked. "I'd thought that monasteries were self-sufficient."

Tashiin smiled thinly.

"It is common in smaller houses," he remarked, "but in one this size, it can be difficult. In addition, martial and spiritual training both take time and concentration, and cooking, scrubbing, and lighting fires, among other chores, take away from that. Hence, the lay servants. Azaana Monastery is as populous as a large waystation or small village."

"I see."

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Tashiin summoned a nun to act as Ryth's escort. They went into a long east-west hall behind the tower and Ryth was led to the right while Arjan was taken left. They went through a short passage into a large block of rooms and corridors, then back up a flight of stairs to the upper level. The guest suite proved to be at the far northeast corner, the bedroom windows overlooking the monastery grounds rather than outside.

"I will send someone to guide you when it is time for dinner, Your Grace. It will not be for half an hour, though, should you need to refresh yourself from the journey." He once again bowed his head respectfully and made to leave. "If there is nothing else, Your Grace?"

"No, thank you," Arjan told him, and the monk withdrew, shutting the door behind him. Like everything else the Prelate had seen of the monastery's construction thus far, it was strong and solid, two inches thick and metal-banded. It was a reminder of the military side to monastic life; the white-robed orders were the heroes and champions of the Church and had been so since ancient times. They were the guardians who watched over the holiest treasures, including the Eclipse Torch itself, and there were numerous legends and stories of heroic quests undertaken by monks and nuns. Many of these tales had gone forgotten by the masses during the reign of the _pai'tekkan_'s civil government, and at the recent conference the High Priestess had noted that it would be good to return some of these to the popular awareness. Arjan thought this smacked a bit of propaganda, but on the other hand it was not a bad idea to let the people know that the Church did have a long and positive history of standing for justice. Was it manipulative to spread the truth?

With a sigh he put these musings aside and inspected his surroundings; it seemed he could not rid himself of the habit of analyzing and second-guessing things over and over, even the most trivial minutiae. The guest suite was spartan, consisting only of a bedroom and antechamber. There was a bedstead, a table, two chairs, and a bowl and pitcher for washing. Three bedmats had been laid out in the antechamber, and the four men's baggage had been brought up. Colce had evidently taken the time to set out the Prelate's gear from that of the others before he and the hunters had gone to eat; the packs were laying on the bed. A padded basket containing a teapot sat on the table next to two stoneware cups; Arjan gratefully poured himself a cup of _kej_, the strong native infusion.

Warmed by the tea, he changed into the formal robe and _kem'pallah_ he had worn during his stay at the conference. The Abbot was his equal in rank and it would be an insult, if a mild one, to attend him in travel-gear. When the monk arrived to guide him, he felt comfortable again, looking forward to a good talk with Abbot Kozil and ready to do justice to the food.

"I hope you will not think me presumptuous," the elderly monk said when Arjan arrived, "but judging that you would require fortification after your journey in this fierce weather, I have requested a meal that is somewhat less abstemious than our usual monastic fare."

Arjan smiled wryly at his host's dry wit and observed with relish the meal spread out before them, including a savory soup, crisp vegetables, and _vonde_-grain rolls stuffed with sliced meat and greens. Though he was not ordinarily a big eater, the Prelate accepted Kozil's invitation and wielded his _suwiis_ enthusiastically.

"I must admit," the old man told him when they were drinking their after-dinner tea, "that your visit plays out to my advantage, Arjan."

"Oh?"

"Well, as the Abbot of a large monastery, I have to set a good example for my underlings. That means sticking to a monastic diet of nutritious but plain fare. With an eminent official of the hierarchy at my table, however, it would be rude of me to expect you to follow a regimen appropriate to vows you have not sworn, and if I ate my usual meal while you dined richly it could be taken as an insult, an attempt to emphasize that I held to monastic discipline while you did not."

"Then why tell me this now?" Arjan said, not without humor. "Wouldn't telling me that you're doing something to avoid insult be the same as offering the insult in the first place?"

"It would, but by now I've taken a bit of your measure and am fairly confident you would not have been insulted."

"True. We all have our roles to play as part of the Way of Heaven, as priest or monk, secluded contemplative or worldly administrator."

"Besides which, since I'm explaining the way in which your presence permits me to cleverly avoid that monastic regimen, it's hardly effective as a point of one-upmanship any more!" Kozil winked and took another drink of tea.

"But tell me," he went on, "what do you know of astrology, Arjan?"

Arjan cudgeled his brain, but could not come up with an adequate response.

"Very little, I'm afraid. I believe the Palmans have a system of twelve star-signs which are supposed to rule their fates, but my understanding is that it is only a popular superstition, not a religious creed. Since you used the _-sej_ suffix, indicating that this was a sacred matter..."

"Not many people do know about it, and yet it is one of the guiding principles of this monastery. It is an obscure point which is tied to our system of holy magic, so perhaps it is not, in truth, entitled to be seen as sacred. This astrology does not concern itself with predicting people's futures or identifying lucky days. It is indeed perhaps more accurately described as a kind of astronomy, but one concerned with observing the _mystic_ interactions between heavenly bodies rather than their physical properties."

"Ah, I think I begin to see what you mean."

"The positions of the heavenly bodies--most importantly, the three planets of the Algo Solar System--have a pronounced effect on the magical influences in our world. Most notably there are the thousand-year and hundred-year eclipse cycles which are so significant in our faith, but there are other factors. Part of this monastery's role is to chart and track these influences in advance, so that the Church can know the best time to perform a magical ritual--or to know when _evil_ magic is favored so we can be prepared to counter it."

Arjan had once had to deal with the results of a disturbed soul dabbling in black magic; he certainly appreciated the point.

"It must be fascinating work. Has the destruction of Palma twenty-five years ago had any significant effect?"

Kozil nodded.

"Yes, and not for the better. The observations we've taken here have been carefully analyzed by our Church adepts in this field together with the assistance of the Palman Espers, and it has become clear that Palma's destruction has significantly unbalanced the nature of mystical forces throughout Algo, and not in a beneficial fashion. The powers of black magic and evil are on the ascendant; dark rituals are becoming easier and propitious days for their performance more common."

"It's fortunate, then, that strongholds of evil like Menobe and Nahar were utterly destroyed in the late thirteenth century."

"Yes, indeed. I myself was a colonel in the _pai'tekkan_'s army when we attacked Nahar in 1296." He shook his head sadly. "It was a horrible time. Over half of us were killed in the counterstrike; the fiends overran the village of Renet, where we'd based our operations from, and we were forced to destroy it to keep an army of the living dead from our heels."

He shuddered convulsively, and there were deep shadows in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Arjan was far more aware of the pressing cold and the shrill scream of the wind outside than he had been; the pleasant, relaxed atmosphere of a moment ago had all but vanished. The lurking presence of evil seemed to be everywhere.

Abbot Kozil seemed to realize what he had done, and he shook off the spell that seemed to have captured him.

"These things are in the past, though. The 'torture palaces,' the true sinkholes of evil, have been destroyed, and although the flux of mystic energies may favor darkness more often than light in these times, we need but be vigilant in our guard so that the minions of the Eternal Dark do not arise again."

Arjan drained a cup of _kej_ and poured himself another, then graciously refilled his host's cup as well. The warming liquid seemed to dispel some of the chill that had fallen over his spirit.

"So, your observations are part of that vigilance. I suppose that the loss of Palman technology makes things more difficult?"

"Well, yes and no. I won't deny that their long-range sensor equipment and their computers would make precise measurements far easier, but even so, their systems were calibrated for astronomical observations. The interpretation of those observations would still require our traditional methods, unless we actually programmed the computers to make those calculations as well. That's not to say that technology hasn't benefitted us, though. The telescope I use on the observatory roof above us owes a good deal to Palmans. The lenses and reflectors used were created by their mechanized industry and are far superior in quality to what we could fashion today by hand."

"Above us?" Arjan asked. "I thought this was the highest level of the tower."

Kozil shook his head slowly.

"No, although the main stairs do stop at my landing. Since the observatory is, traditionally, the Abbot's duty, the staircase upwards is here in my chamber, behind that hanging." He gestured to a scroll bearing an elaborate painting of dancing flames in scarlet and gold. "The thick cloth helps to insulate against the cold that inevitably makes its way through the door. If the weather was not so severe I would show you the observatory and how the process works, but tonight we'd be able to see nothing but clouds."

"It's too bad; I'd have been interested, but the weather will be what it is."

"I, for one, am glad of it. Not that the Palmans' climate control technology was itself morally wrong, but I am frightened by the idea of human beings controlling such an enormous force. That sheer amount of power in human hands..."

Arjan, thinking of the asteroid ring that had once been Palma, could not disagree.

As if by mutual decision, the conversation turned to trivialities as the two men finished a last cup of tea. They bid each other good night, and Arjan returned to his suite. Colce was dicing at _wolraa_ with the two hunters in the anteroom, all three in apparent high spirits, shouting lustily as they slapped down tiles and fell prey to the whims of good and bad fortune.

"Hey, boss!" Colce called as he entered. "For all these white-robes around, they keep a pretty decent kitchen here. The work may be hard, but at least a man can eat and drink his fill."

"All I need is a girl and my evening's made!" chimed in one of the hunters. The other one cuffed his partner on the back of his head.

"Snows, M'Britt, this is the Prelate you're talking to. We're sorry, Your Grace; he's had a little too much wine."

"Try to remember that this is a monastery, not an inn, and keep your voices down," Arjan said sternly. "Then you won't need to worry if you say the wrong thing."

"Yes, Your Grace," both hunters said.

"I'm going to bed now. Don't feel obliged to turn in as well, but make sure you're ready to leave in the morning. I want to make it to Ires Waystation tomorrow night, so we can be home in Vassha the day after."

"Yes, Your Grace."

As Arjan passed into the bedroom he heard Colce murmur to the amorous hunter, "Just remember, don't make passes at a nun, no matter how pretty she is. Only a complete fool flirts with a girl who has a vow of chastity and full combat training." The Prelate couldn't help but smile. Irreverent Colce might be, but he was also staunch and reliable, and his hard-nosed, practical approach kept Arjan's imagination from running off with him. The three men's earthy worldliness helped to dispel the last effects of the lurking fear from Arjan's mind; he drew the curtain between rooms, changed for bed, extinguished the lamp, and soon found himself in a sleep untroubled by dreams.

"Boss?"

He was jolted back to consciousness by the hand gripping his shoulder.

"Boss, wake up."

Another shake brought him fully awake.

"Colce? What is it?"

"It's that steward, Brother Tashiin. He says they need your help. There's been a death."

"Why would he come to me? Surely there are procedures for the Abbot to follow in case of a death."

"I'm sure there are. The problem is, it's Abbot Kozil who's dead."


	3. Chapter 3

Fear suddenly gripped Arjan's heart in a vise. They'd just been speaking of evil influences, black magic, and now the Abbot was dead. How long had it been? It felt like it was only moments since he'd fallen asleep, but at the windows pale lines of dawnlight could be seen at the gaps in the shutters. Morning, then, but still very early.

"Was it a natural death?"

"Brother Tashiin didn't seem to know. Apparently the Abbot was found in the monastery courtyard; he went off his tower, with or without help."

"Has he closed off the monastery to prevent anyone from leaving?"

"Already done. It was the first thing I thought of."

"All right, then. Let me get dressed so I can speak to Brother Tashiin. A hot cup of tea to clear my head would be nice, too."

"Consider it done, boss."

Colce slipped out of the room, and Arjan quickly went about the business of waking up and readying himself for a new day. He chose to again put on his formal robes; if Tashiin was coming to him this early concerning the Abbot's death, then it was very likely his official capacity was relevant and it would be good to show a visual reminder of that. _Particularly_, he thought, _as I have no official standing here, even though I am the highest-ranked church official surviving._

When he was ready, he pulled back the curtain between rooms. Tashiin stood there, shivering with barely-suppressed tension.

"Thank Heaven, Your Grace. For a moment, I feared..."

"Let's put that aside. What do you need from me?"

"On behalf of Azaana Monastery, Your Grace, I humbly request that you take charge of the investigation into Abbot Kozil's death."

Arjan understood it no more than he had when Colce had said it.

"Why?" he asked. "Although the Abbot's death is tragic, the rules of monastic authority would provide that the Prior would assume control until a new Abbot is appointed by the hierarchy. Nor can I believe that an orderly, well-run monastery lacks the basic facilities for administering justice."

Tashiin shuffled his feet, a gesture that seemed very unmonklike; in Arjan's experience the training of the white-clothed orders made for a very composed set of people.

"As to that, Your Grace, the senior Prior, Maavik, is over one hundred and ill in mind and body; his rank is an honor to his age and past service rather than any mark of genuine power. As steward, I am next in the chain of authority, and while I feel confident in fulfilling my administrative duties on an interim basis, I readily admit that I am out of my depth in investigating a case of unnatural death."

"Unnatural? Do you suspect it was murder, rather than an accident?"

Tashiin nodded.

"Yes, Your Grace. The windows of the Abbot's bedchamber are far too small for anyone but a child or a professional contortionist to pass through easily and are impossible to _fall_ from. The only place he where he could have accidentally fallen is the observatory tower, and not only is there a railing, but there was no reason for him to be on that tower in the first place!"

Arjan nodded.

"We discussed the observatory at dinner, and His Reverence did mention that the weather made it impossible for him to make his usual stellar records." Tashiin's suspicions seemed to have a sound basis.

"It was a stroke of good fortune that a famous investigator should be staying with us the very night of such a tragedy. It must be, Your Grace, that Heaven has guided you here to assist us. You have experience in solving crimes of this sort, and you also are an outsider, free of local feelings and prejudices. If you would take charge of investigating this matter, it would be a great favor to me personally and to the monastery as a whole."

What could Arjan say against that? It was true that he had dealt with several criminal cases including five murders during his time as Prelate of Vassha, though if he was being called a "famous investigator" rumors were spreading all out of proportion to the truth. And he had been the Abbot's guest; there was a duty there as well as that required by justice. Although he wished for nothing more than to return home, it did not seem reasonable for him to turn aside.

"Very well, Brother Tashiin; I accept your request. You will have to formally name me as a Vicar of Azaana, though, to legalize my authority." A vicar was a priest named to stand in the rank of authority of another in the hierarchy. "Bureaucracy is, at times, as much the Church's master as is Heaven."

"Yes, Your Grace; I'll have the papers drawn up at once. And...thank you. Thank you very much."

Arjan shook his head.

"We all have a duty, Brother Tashiin. Now, Colce said that the body was found in the courtyard? Take us there at once."

Tashiin looked puzzled.

"To the courtyard, Your Grace, or to the body?"

"I thought they were together."

"No, Your Grace. The body was taken to the infirmary at once. Our infirmarian is a trained physician and will serve as coroner."

Arjan sighed.

"In cases of suspicious death, it's important not to touch anything until the investigators have had a chance to examine the scene for trace evidence."

"I'm sorry."

"No; it's a lesson I only know from dealing with police matters as a Prelate."

Tashiin smiled thinly.

"It goes to show, though, why it was a good idea to enlist your aid."

Perhaps he had a point, Arjan considered. There was value in experience.

Colce reentered the room with a young man who carried a tea-tray. Arjan immediately poured and gulped a hot cup; the _kej_ was fresh-made but obviously from leftover leaves as the bitterness revealed. It did its job, though, helping to clear his mind of the last wisps of sleep.

"All right, then. First we'll go to the courtyard and see where the body was found. Have the witnesses brought so Colce and I can question them. After that we'll talk to your infirmarian, and you can draw up the vicarage papers while we're doing that. If the monastery had someone who is formally assigned the responsibility of investigating crimes, have him or her sent to me as well; they can serve as police-warden. Colce is my lieutenant in this investigation; he acts on my authority, so make it known that he has this power."

"Very well, Your Grace."

He gave several quick orders to the other monk, then took them down to the dormitory's first floor. He went along the same hallways as led to and from the Abbot's tower, but stopped along the way and opened a door in the left-hand wall. A rush of cold air greeted them as they looked out into the steel-gray morning. The snow had stopped at last, though the turbulent clouds overhead were still dark and threatening. A solid two feet of snow had fallen during the night; monks and lay workers alike were busy shoveling it into baskets which were in turn handed off to be carried away, presumably to be dumped outside. The solid U-shape of the dormitory buildings and the front wall guided the wind, and had led to drifts up against the wall where Arjan's group had emerged. The builders had clearly understood this natural tendency, because the door was at the top of a short but steep flight of stairs designed to keep snow buildup from blocking its opening.

"He was found over there," Tashiin said, pointing to his right.

They descended to a shoveled-out path, which was fortunate as they hadn't had time to put on overboots. The snow was over three feet deep up against the wall, and the drifts were broken up by the tracks of many feet. Still, although it was badly disturbed, Arjan could see the spot where the Abbot's body had been found. It had penetrated deeply into the snow, and there were no traces of blood. Arjan looked up at the tower rearing above them, thinking that even with a cushion of soft snow a fall could easily be fatal.

Another monk approached, one whom the Prelate did not recognize.

"Are you the one who found the body?"

"Yes, Your Grace. My name is Veyn."

"Very well, Brother Veyn. How did you come to discover the Abbot's death?"

"Each morning after a snowfall, there is one monk assigned to examine the courtyard and to arrange an appropriate work detail based on the severity of the storm. I was given that task last evening, so when I awoke just before dawn I came out here to determine the extent of the snowfall and what kind of job it would be to clear it."

He spoke in a formal, dispassionate, almost mechanical tone. Although many monastics did use that sort of voice with Church superiors, and although Veyn was middle-aged rather than a young man and so could be expected to have encountered death before, it still seemed wrong somehow. A man who found the corpse of his spiritual and temporal leader after violent death ought to show more emotion, or so Arjan thought.

"When I looked this way I saw that the snow had been disturbed," Veyn continued. "I walked over from the door there"--he pointed across the courtyard to a door near the male dormitory--"and when I got here I realized that it was a body. I recognized the Abbot's face at once."

"His face? He was lying on his back?"

"Yes, Your Grace. I went at once for help, summoning guards, Brother Tashiin, and Sister Melis."

"Our infirmarian, Your Grace," Tashiin interjected, correctly deducing Arjan's next question.

"Thank you. Go on, Brother Veyn."

"Sister Melis verified that there was nothing we could do, so the guards and I dug Abbot Kozil's body out and took it to the infirmary morgue." He hung his head and sighed. "It is a tragic case, Your Grace. Abbot Kozil was a wise and learned man, a veteran of many battles against evil even before he joined the Church. His death will be felt deeply by all of us who served under him."

The simple statement was clearly heartfelt, and hearing it gave Arjan a better understanding of Veyn's emotions. A controlled man, but not an unfeeling one--simply a person who did not let emotion interfere with duty, perhaps even used that duty to help work through shock.

"Will there be anything else, Your Grace?"

"I have a few questions," Arjan stated. "Was the Abbot's body partly snow-covered?"

Veyn shook his head.

"Only where the snow had crumbled in from around him on impact, Your Grace. There hadn't been any snowfall on top of the body, if that is what you mean."

"It was. Can any of you tell me what time the snow stopped?"

"The monks who were on nightwatch could," Tashiin suggested.

"Thank you. Colce, please go check on that, and as long as you have to wake them up, you might as well ask them the usual questions, if they saw or heard anything, and so on."

"I'm on it, boss." Colce left at once, and Arjan turned back to the witness.

"When you crossed the courtyard, Brother Veyn, did you see any marks or tracks?"

"No, Your Grace. Other than where the Abbot had fallen, the snow remained undisturbed."

Arjan wanted to ask if Veyn knew of any enemies of the Abbot, but now was not the time, not with Tashiin there as well. Some topics did not flourish in a group discussion, he had learned.

"That will be all for now, Brother Veyn."

"Yes, Your Grace." He bowed his head and left.

"Now, for the infirmary."


	4. Chapter 4

"It will be quicker just to cross the courtyard, now that several paths have been shoveled out," Tashiin advised. He took the Prelate directly across, towards what appeared to be the chapel at the far north end of the monastery. To the left and right of it, adjoining the dormitories, were long, low structures with the typical pitched roofs.

"That building there contains the library and the indoor training halls," Tashiin indicated the one adjoining the female dormitory. "Across from it are the kitchens, storerooms, and the infirmary." Tashiin turned to the left, across the snow-dusted cobbles and led the way to that door. Arjan wondered if it might have made more sense to locate the infirmary nearer to the training halls, where he suspected most injuries resulted in the usual course of monastic life.

They went inside and headed towards the chapel, passing several bustling lay workers in the corridors. Finally, they went through an open door marked with a blue sun, the traditional Dezolian sign of healing roughly equivalent to the Palmans' red cross. Several beds lay in a row in the front room, but they were all unoccupied.

"Sister Malis," Tashiin called. A hand pushed open a heavy brocade curtain at the rear of the infirmary and a woman emerged, accompanied by a rush of cool air.

"Yes, Brother Tashiin?" The nun's eyes then fell upon Arjan, and her expression brightened. "Oh, Your Grace. I'm so glad that you accepted Brother Tashiin's request. The Abbot was a holy man, deeply respected by all of us, and his murder is an offense to us all."

"It is murder, then? I mean, your inspection of the body has shown this?"

She glanced down at her feet. Malis was young and pretty, fitting well with the popular image of the nurse or doctor as a gentle, sympathetic maiden, though no doubt she was as well-trained in the fighting arts as any of the other monastics.

"No, not conclusively. But what else could it be?"

"That is what I hope to learn," Arjan said gently. "Could you show us what you've found?"

Malis nodded, then held the curtain aside. It led to a short hall heated by two braziers with another heavy curtain at the far end. Despite the burning coals the air was still quite cool, and when Malis opened the curtain at the far end it became obvious why. The infirmary's morgue was kept cold by venting the frozen outside air.

The corpse of Abbot Kozil lay on its face on a flat metal table, naked for its post-mortem examination. In the cold room, bitterly exposed to their eyes, the body of the old man was an object lesson in the ephemerality of human life. Arjan was reminded forcefully that rank, honors, and wealth were in the end meaningless, for all came to the same end beneath the eye of Heaven. It was what one did in his or her life that ultimately mattered. By all accounts, including his own brief encounter, Kozil had been a good and wise man, who had filled his role as abbot well.

Yet, somewhere in his life was an action that had led him to a sudden, violent death. Had there been something wrong, something hidden? Or was the evil solely in the mind and intent of the killer?

_Or_, he corrected himself,_ was it indeed murder_? There was no proof–yet–though no one else believed Kozil had fallen accidentally.

"I'm an infirmarian and healer," Malis explained, "not a trained pathologist, so I haven't made an internal examination. Still, it appears that the cause of death was a broken neck, the spinal cord having been severed."

"That would not be unusual in a fall, though?"

Malis shook her head.

"No, Your Grace. Injuries from falls can vary widely from person to person depending on circumstances. His Reverence landed in soft snow, which absorbed some of the impact, but he was also an old and frail man. There is one thing, though, that makes me curious."

She beckoned, and they followed her to the body. Malis pointed to the back of the Abbot's neck, where a mottled patch of darker green than the rest of his skin was visible.

"This bruise indicates a blow. It could be coincidence, but it is precisely where the neck was broken."

Arjan pressed his fingertips together.

"That does not sound particularly coincidental."

"It's also the only bruise on the body. A corpse doesn't bruise, so if His Reverence struck hard enough to break his neck, shouldn't there be other bruising?"

Arjan tried to think of his various discussions with Dr. Senj, the elderly doctor who was the coroner in Vassha. He'd given private advice as well as official testimony on many occasions, and the Prelate seemed to recall that Malis was correct.

"I agree. This is exceedingly suspicious. It looks very much as if Abbot Kozil was struck from behind by some assailant, who then hurled the body from the tower to make us believe a fall was the cause of death. He or she did not consider the snow, which minimized the damage to the body and so made the true cause of death more obvious."

"But why?" protested Malis. "Abbot Kozil was a holy man, a good man. Who could want to hurt him?"

"I don't know. Can you think of any dispute here in the monastery that may have led to this?"

"No, of course not!"

"There are mundane disagreements, of course," Tashiin put in, "of the kind that inevitably come about when a number of people live in close quarters, but we are all dedicated to our lives here. His Reverence did not need to decide a serious matter in over eight months, when it became necessary to dismiss a brother for stealing from his fellows, but that person is long gone from here."

Arjan nodded. Ambition, of course, was another possible motive, but while Brother Tashiin was _acting_ as Prior he did not actually possess the rank and the Church hierarchy would never "leapfrog" him to Abbot. They would instead bring some worthy Prior from another monastery. Tashiin's chances of becoming Abbot at Azaana Monastery were better if he worked diligently, received a promotion upon the elderly Maavik's death or retirement, and eventually took over. His earlier conversations with Arjan indicated a sufficient grasp of his status and the workings of the Church hierarchy to understand this.

There were other reasons, too, to doubt Tashiin's guilt, but they could wait until later, when he could confirm them properly.

"Very well, but please do try to think if there might be anything else, even if it should seem small and insignificant at first."

"Yes, Your Grace," Malis said.

"I would like to see the late Abbot's rooms and the observatory tower now, Brother Tashiin."

"Very well."

The steward escorted Arjan back through the monastery halls. This time, he was getting a better idea of the routes and felt he could have made his way on his own, though he was glad of the escort. At the top of the stairs they were met by two grim-faced young monks.

"I instructed these guards to keep watch here, Your Grace," Tashiin explained, "in case the killer tried to return for some reason."

"It was murder, then, Brother Tashiin?" one guard spoke up. "I knew it couldn't be an accident!"

"Has anyone else come this way?" Arjan asked. Both monks shook their heads.

"No, Your Grace."

"Very well; I'll take a look. Brother Tashiin, if you would go and prepare the vicarage papers now?"

"Yes, Your Grace; I'm sorry I didn't get to it earlier."

"No, your assistance has been very valuable."

"Thank you. Your Grace...do you believe there is any hope of catching the Abbot's murderer?" The pleading note in his voice reminded Arjan of a child who had lost a parent, but the Prelate did not find it strange. Even his short meetings with Kozil had been enough to convey an impression of the man's strong personality. He could readily see how the monks and nuns of Azaana could be so deeply moved by Kozil's death.

"With the grace of Heaven, it may, but we must proceed with caution. There is nothing to be gained by hasty statements," he said as much to himself as to Tashiin.

The older man bowed his head in response. "Of course, Your Grace. I pray for your success." He then turned and went down the steps while Arjan went into the Abbot's room.

Being alone in Kozil's chambers only served to emphasize how ascetic they were in decor. Like a monk's cell, all their personality had come from the character of their resident, and without him alive there was nothing left. The room felt chilly; the coals in the brazier had been allowed to burn out. The bare stone floor held no footprints, bloodstains, or signs of a struggle. It was a simple truth that it was impossible to have a disturbance where there was nothing to disturb.

Arjan pushed aside the door curtain and went into the bedroom. Here there was a bit more to see, but not much. The Abbot's bed was a simple monk's pallet with no concession to his rank. A holy symbol, a golden flame, was mounted on the wall, and there was a writing-desk with an adjoining bookcase. Arjan glanced at the titles; some were works of history, others of religious philosophy, and a number seemed to concern the mystical astrology which the Abbot had spoken of during their visit. There were also a set of bound records which Kozil seemed to have prepared himself from his stellar observations. Clearly he'd taken his work seriously, but there was nothing there to suggest a motive.

Arjan examined the room's two windows; they were tall and narrow. Tashiin had been right that no one could accidentally fall through one, though Arjan judged he'd overstated their narrowness. An agile person of normal adult build could squeeze themselves through. The real obstacles to an accident were the fact that the windows were three feet off the floor, and the wall a full foot thick. The Prelate tried to look down to see if either window was above the place the body had fallen, but to no avail; he'd have had to twist his shoulders sideways and contort out to do that. The point was largely moot, though, since he'd had a good look from below.

He went back to the outer room and pushed aside the hanging scroll-painting Kozil had said concealed the staircase to the roof. Arjan had remembered rightly; the painting concealed an alcove with a narrow flight of steps. The door at the top was not locked and smoothly opened inwards. The roof was covered by a fresh layer of new-fallen snow, and the complete lack of footprints eliminated the last vestiges of hope that the Abbot's death was only an unfortunate accident.

Under more pleasant circumstances, he'd have liked to see the telescope itself, which he assumed was in the domelike hut in the center of the roof. There was a distinct separation between the small round building's foundation and its upper portion, most likely so it could rotate and allow the telescope different vantage points. Snow covered everything now, but Arjan assumed there was some kind of trapdoor in the dome through which the telescope lens would emerge.

There was no point, though, in indulging his own curiosity when there was a duty to attend to. He shut the door and descended the stairs. He had just begun to reexamine the Abbot's sitting-room with a more careful eye when the guards admitted Colce.

"Hey, boss, I've done what you asked. The nightwatch didn't admit anyone else after us, didn't see or hear anything, and the snow stopped at around three-thirty in the morning. They also claim they can't imagine why anyone would want to kill the Abbot. If you ask me, I believe them, but then I kinda liked the old guy, for all I'd actually met him for all of five minutes."

"The people I've spoken to say much the same thing."

"Of course, there's a lot of people here, and who knows what one of them might think. In a monastery full of trained fighting monks, nearly anyone could have tossed one old man off the roof."

"Actually, that isn't what happened, Colce."

"Huh?"

"We know that he fell after the storm ended, but the snow on the roof hasn't been disturbed. He was never on the roof."

"Then how did he get on the ground? Don't tell me this is another one of those cases full of spooks?"

"I don't believe so," the Prelate said. He rubbed his forefinger over a spot on the floor. "My suspicion is that Abbot Kozil was struck down here, and then his killer forced the body out through the bedroom windows in an attempt to make it look like a fall."

"Maybe, boss, but wouldn't the killer have at least gone upstairs and made some tracks in the snow?"

"You're overthinking matters, Colce. This wasn't a carefully planned-out crime; that's why there are mistakes, including one very obvious one."

Colce blinked.

"Obvious to you, maybe."

Arjan straightened up and inspected his fingertip. Soot and flakes of ash were clinging to it. He went to the brazier and inspected the rim closely, where he found a dented spot.

"Do you see this, Colce?"

His assistant came over and took a look.

"You think someone hit him with this, boss?"

Arjan nodded.

"It would have spilled coals and ash, of course. The murderer cleaned up, probably before forcing the body out the window, but some ash was left behind. We should check the Abbot's clothing for ash stains; that would be important corroborating evidence."

Colce nodded, following the evidence.

"I also think this goes to explain one of your concerns," Arjan continued. "This was not a premeditated crime. The murderer did not bring a weapon, but simply grabbed up a heavy object and struck in a sudden fit of anger or panic. The killer then tried to lay a false trail, but it was done in the urgency of the moment and so made mistakes that a prepared plan would have accounted for."

"Nice of the killer to help catch himself."

"Human actions always leave traces, Colce, whether in the sense of criminal evidence or not. We just have to see them by the Light of Truth to understand.

"And have you understood, boss?"

Arjan nodded.

"I think so. I can see only one theory that explains all the known facts and circumstances."

"But no spooks, right?"

"No, only an ordinary person who strayed from the Way of Heaven."

Colce hooked his thumbs into his belt.

"I hope he comes quietly. I'm pretty good with my hands, but these monastics train until they can split stone."


	5. Chapter 5

"Why have you brought me here?"

The Abbot's chamber seemed fitting to Arjan for this confrontation, both as the monastery's seat of power and the scene of the crime.

"I could have called for a formal session of the tribunal, under my authority as Vicar, but I thought it might be more productive to speak to you in private, with only Brother Tashiin and Colce present. I'd hoped you would be more willing to explain to us why you murdered Abbot Kozil, Ryth."

The priestess looked at him in stunned surprise.

"Your Grace? How can you--" she stammered. "I couldn't--"

Arjan held up his hand.

"No, it was you. Everything about this murder points to an outsider unfamiliar with monastery routine. It is impossible to accidentally fall from the windows in this chamber, and given last night's weather it would not make sense for him to be on the roof. Nearly everyone I've spoken to today assumed that the Abbot had been murdered even with the knowledge that the snow on the roof was undisturbed. The only reason to push the body out the window would be to try to disguise the murder as an accident, but no resident here would have believed that. I myself was slower to come to that conclusion, even though His Reverence had told me himself that the cloud cover would interfere with his activities and there was no point in going up to the roof. Only an outsider would have made this basic mistake in attempting to conceal the crime."

"Then it must have been one of those hunters of yours, or maybe _him_, Your Grace," Ryth protested, gesturing at Colce.

"You might almost get the idea she doesn't like me," Colce said. He subsided when Arjan frowned at him; the Prelate did not consider a murder to be a subject for levity.

"That isn't possible."

"Why? Because they're from Vassha?"

"No, because the three of them slept in the outer room of my suite, alibiing each other as well as myself. As the only woman in the group you were given your own room in the female dormitory. and there is more, besides."

She stared at him in confusion. Arjan pointed to the brazier.

"The killer used that as the murder weapon, picking it up and striking the Abbot in the back of the neck. This is not something a trained fighting monk or hunter would do. Most carry weapons as a matter of course even if not intending violence, and a trained fighter would also know better ways to subdue an unarmed old man then to use such a clumsy improvised weapon. You and I, Ryth, are from similar backgrounds, cloistered scholars from an early age, and would be the two people most likely to make such a crude attack."

Ryth's truculence was beginning to fade as Arjan enumerated the evidence against her, worry starting to take shape.

"Another point against you is one raised by Colce. He wanted to know why the killer hadn't left a fake trail on the roof as part of the stage-dressing. I had a slightly different question. Since you wanted to disguise the killing as a fall from the roof, why not simply take him upstairs and drop him from there? The answer is that you simply were not physically capable of it. You are a very small woman and not particularly strong, whereas all but the most elderly monks and nuns are in peak condition. Dragging the Abbot's corpse to the window was most likely all you could manage. And, of course, the windows face inward, so you had no option but to drop the body into the courtyard instead of outside the monastery where it might have gone undiscovered for some time."

He looked searchingly at Ryth.

"I know that this crime could not have been premeditated. Her Eminence's decision to send you here to Azaana was hers alone. Nor did you mean to kill the Abbot when you came to these rooms last night, or else you'd have brought a weapon. Yet you, a devout priestess of the church, struck down a man universally believed to be a holy monk and a wise Abbot. There must have been some reason."

Tashiin could not contain himself any more. He stepped forward, fists shaking.

"Why did you do it, you apostate? Why did you kill Abbot Kozil?"

Ryth met his anger directly, a twisted snarl capturing her face.

"Apostate? If anyone turned his back on the Church it was _him._ Prelate Arjan mentioned that I was raised a ward of the Church, but did you know why I was orphaned? Your good, wise, and holy Abbot Kozil murdered my parents!"

"How _dare_ you?" Tashiin shouted. "You'll take those lies back or else I'll--"

"Let her explain, Brother Tashiin," Arjan said. "She'll face justice for her crime in due course, but she has the right to be heard."

With an effort of will, Tashiin lowered his fists and stepped back away from Ryth.

"Thank you, Your Grace," she said mockingly. "I'm glad to know that your personal curiosity is important enough to refrain from taking summary vengeance." She paused, then sighed. "I'm sorry, Prelate. You didn't deserve that, and neither does Brother Tashiin. Have you ever heard of a village called Renet?"

The name was oddly familiar to Arjan, and in a moment he was able to recall why. Abbot Kozil himself had mentioned it the night before during their talk.

"It was near Nahar," he said softly, "and destroyed in 1296."

Ryth blinked in surprise.

"Yes, it was," she said. "Thirteen years ago. I was a child of twelve when the _pai'tekkan_'s army decided that it was time to destroy the devil's tower. They moved into our village and took it over utterly as their base of operations. We were put out of our houses and shops; the soldiers took our quarters, our supplies, everything. We'd been invaded. Majo and Pajo tried to explain it to me, but I didn't know what Nahar was or why it needed to be destroyed.

"I don't know how much of the battle's history, you know, but the army successfully defeated the minions of darkness and half-destroyed the tower of Nahar itself. What they didn't do was stay and finish the job. Instead they retreated to Renet to celebrate and carouse. That night...we were attacked."

"The surviving creatures?"

Ryth nodded.

"It was horrible. They slaughtered everyone they could reach, soldiers and citizens. Those of us who could barricaded ourselves inside buildings. Zombies and ghouls were wandering the streets, shadows coming to life and attacking people, it was horrible." Her eyes were blank, her mind far away. "I can still hear the screaming even now when I think about it."

She stopped, and a bitter spasm ran through her as she pulled herself back from the past.

"Then the soldiers _ran_. Oh, they probably called it a 'tactical retreat' or something like that, but they _ran away_. Some of the villagers ran with them...my father all but threw me into the back of a military vehicle, then went back for Majo. He...a mesoman..." She shook her head. "If he hadn't tried to rescue me, he wouldn't have been killed, and he only had to expose himself because the army was leaving the villagers to die."

Ryth looked challengingly at Arjan. The Prelate had nothing to say.

"That's not the worst of it, though. I've studied history, I know that armies lose battles, that they sometimes are routed and suffer horrible losses. There's no excuse for what happened next, though. The army regrouped on the ridgeline overlooking Renet. We could see the fires, hear the screams rising up to us. There were still people there, fighting, dying, and they...and they..."

Arjan remembered Kozil's own words.

"They destroyed the village."

"You...you know?"

"Last night, the Abbot spoke of the campaign in passing, that he had been a colonel during the attack on Nahar."

"They used their weapons of Palman technology," Ryth said bitterly. "With the war machines they'd managed to get out of the village, they launched an artillery strike. Missiles, plasma cannon...I don't know what else. But I stood not as far from Kozil as I do from you now, watching him shout to his men to fire. There were people still alive in there, some of their own soldiers, villagers, my mother...and the army killed them all rather than regroup and try a counterattack. Oh, they won the battle, but only by murdering dozens of the people they were supposed to protect. They dragged us into the fight, then botched the job and brought the enemy to us, then ran like cowards and shot us down."

"But Abbot Kozil wasn't the commanding general. He didn't make any of those tragic decisions," Arjan said.

"That's what he said when I confronted him last night," Ryth said. "I don't know how I controlled myself when I saw his face; I recognized him at once, but I didn't want to make a scene. This was a private thing. So I slipped back after everyone but the nightwatch was abed. I told him who I was, what I'd seen, demanded an explanation, and he took the coward's way out. Following orders! He couldn't even bring himself to face me when he said it! _Then_ he said that he regretted the pain I'd suffered! Nothing about his own guilt, mind you, just that he was sorry for me." She was shaking, trembling with fury just as she no doubt had that night. "I couldn't believe it. He may not have made the decision, but he didn't pause to question it, ask if there was another way besides sacrificing innocent lives. He just passed on the order without hesitation. And he couldn't even admit that much! I didn't want that man's pity; he could never understand my feelings. I just wanted to know that he realized he'd been wrong! But he...but he..."

It took her a moment to master herself.

"I grabbed up the brazier and hit him. The rest of it is just like you said. I...was afraid, so I didn't want to be caught. I cleaned up the ashes and spilled coals, and I dragged Kozil's body to the window and pushed him through. I hoped the fall would cause enough damage that my hitting him would be concealed, but I didn't realize the courtyard wasn't kept swept free of snow."

"The wall is too thick to look down from the window," Arjan said.

"When I was done, I slipped back to my guest room. Luckily, no one saw me." She looked the Prelate squarely in the eyes. "If you hadn't solved the crime, I don't know if I would have eventually confessed. I admit, I didn't want to be caught and punished. But there is one thing I do know." She turned to Tashiin, her gaze as intent as when she'd faced Arjan. "I know that taking vengeance was wrong. I know that the hatred I feel for him even now is wrong. And I am willing to freely admit it, instead of trying to hide it from people who already know. I may be afraid of the consequences, but at least I'm not afraid of the truth."

"No, Ryth," Arjan corrected her softly, "I think you are. The Way of Heaven teaches us to face our sins honestly, it is true. It does not teach us to take pride in them."

She flinched as if struck, and the pained look lasted as Tashiin took her from the room.

"So what now, boss?" Colce asked.

"The investigation is complete. I'll write up a formal report, and the monastery should be able to conclude the case in its own tribunal. If you start packing now, we should be ready to leave by the time I'm finished. I find myself yearning to be home."

"You and me both." Colce then broke into a sudden grin. "The wine here's not bad, but to my mind there's really no point in staying in a place where every girl's taken a vow of chastity."


End file.
